


(I slithered here) From Eden

by Lios



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Gender changing, Georgian Period, Hozier, Idiots in Love, Ireland - 20th century, M/M, Multiple Lives, Reincarnation, Savitri & Satyavan, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lios/pseuds/Lios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, he dreams. </p>
<p>He is not THE WINTER SOLDIER (feared assassin) nor is he JAMES BARNES (historical sidekick). </p>
<p>First, before all of the others, he is a woman who kneels at Death's feet and charms him into giving her husband back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been thinking along this bunny for longer than a year but only recently gotten actually writing. I love a reincarnation story and since there aren't enough around, I decided to contribute to wind in the sails of the Barnes/Rogers ship. Title and quotes throughout taking from the wonderful Hozier's "From Eden", which was the initial inspiration for this story. 
> 
> The inspiration for this chapter comes from one of my favourite myths, that of Savitri and Satyavan. Hit google, definitely worth a read.

_~~A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree~~ _

* * *

 

She knows approximately three days after they meet that he is doomed. She falls in love with him anyway, with the easy smile and kind heart. He is poor but she finds that she could not care. She is convinced that she can cure them of all their faults and is unwilling to let anyone persuade her of otherwise.

On the day it was foreseen, she does not say a word but follows him through the wood, heart weighing heavy as he laughs and sends her charming smiles. She smiled back, willing the flutter in her chest to disappear and reminding him to watch his step. She was constantly waiting for the end to come that she feared that even the slightest misstep might summon fate. She need not have worried about such. When they came to the small clearing in the forest, he suddenly sat, knees folded beneath him. Her breath caught in her throat and she ran to hold him, sinking down hard on the earth beside him. His whole body began to shake and he whined of pains piercing his head. She stroked his face, pulling him down to rest his head on her shoulder. He cried out and she cried with him, tears marking both of their faces.

He dies, as it was predicted and finally she knows how. Her tears dried as his body grew cold and it was hours later that she noted that they were no longer alone in the wood. A character watches them, a face lined by time in a way that is attractive rather than an inhibitor. He leant on a wooden staff in what she supposed was used as a method to reinforce the myths and stories surrounding him. She knows before any words are spoken that he is Death and that her time is running out.

A wind rippled through the air and she felt something lighten in her lover’s body. She held him tighter, allowing his head to droop down to rest in her lap. The coldness of his skin unnerved her. Glancing up, she noticed the outline of his soul stand half a length behind Death, back turned to her. She resisted the urge to stand, running her hands through his hair instead. Death smiled at her, wide and engaging and he bowed his head respectively in her direction.

He turned with a final smile and began to walk away. Her eyes lingered on the shadow that followed him only a step behind. The further away from her they got, the more that shade faded.

“Stop, please. I have sworn my soul to his, in this life and every other. You cannot allow us to separate. _Please,_ friend. My love for him is so strong that I cannot live alone. You must take me with you also.”

“Your time is yet to come, little friend. Be at peace and ensure his body finds rest. His soul will be safe with me.”

 She looked down at her husband’s head, still and cold in her lap, a pained expression frozen on his face. She brushed her hand through his sticky hair to clear his handsome face and pressed a last kiss to his lips. Refusing to allow a single tear to fall, she lifted his head from her thigh and gently placed it down on the earth. She pulled herself to standing and set off to follow Death who was far ahead and only just on the edge of her vision. She did not run nor hurry but walked with slow and measured steps.

She travelled in his wake for some time before he turned again, an amused look lighting up his features. He paused, in no rush himself, and waited until she stood close to him again. She looked to her lover’s soul who bore a blank expression and appeared to see straight through her, as if she were not present.

“You surprise me,” said Death, leaning on the wooden staff in his left hand. “Most of your kind runs from me in fear and yet here you are, unafraid.”

“You could not scare me,” she answered. “I prepared to meet you long ago. You are our friend who catches us when our lives end and bring us on to our new ones. I am grateful for that hardship you do. I could never resent you.”

“If that is the truth you must understand that I cannot return your man’s soul to you.”

“I understand it, yet I cannot accept it.”

Death gazed upwards at the fading sky, his eyes unbothered by the sun, its strength still strong even as it died for the day. Her legs ached almost as much as her heart now and she craved the opportunity to rest but still she held her ground and stood, begging her muscles not to shiver.

“You claim to be my friend,” said Death at last, eyes fixed on the sun.

“I do,” she agreed, her voice calm and steady.

“Then I offer you a gift, not only in return for your friendship but also to ease your grief.”

“A gift?”

“A blessing of good fortune. I cannot promise your husband’s soul back to you but should you ask for anything else, I will grant it.”

His glance returned to her and she stared back, unsure of how to proceed. She could feel her heart as it raced in her chest and willed it to calm before she jumped to a bad decision because of it.

“I fear there is nothing in this life that I desire. No wealth or finery can fill the wound in the centre of my heart left by my husband.”

“It is, I agree, a poor substitute for a broken heart but yet a wealth may grant you a life of ease with little hardship. You should not be so quick to dismiss such a gift, friend.”

She nodded, her right hand curling into the cloth by her side. “There is one thing that I do desire.”

His eyebrows raised and he spread his hands before him, palms facing upwards, waiting for her request. She swallowed painfully hard, forcing her fluttering stomach to settle. “I wish to continue my line. I want to have many sons.”

The smile spread slowly across Death’s face. “Children have been known to cure even the harshest wounds. You ask for the gift of life from Death, and so Death shall grant it to you.”

It is her turn to smile and so she does, wide and bright. Her heart hammered in her chest and her head felt light as her eyes burned into Death’s. “You are a most kind friend. It has been so long now I believe it is time for us to return home.”

His eyes narrowed to fine slits and the smile slid off his face. “Us?”

“My husband and I. You promised me that I would have many sons and I cannot do so without him. I swore to the gods when we wed that I would never love another in the way I love him. There is no way that I can have children without him.”

 “Were you false with me all of this time? Do you really consider me friend?”

“Everything I have said is true. I just will not live without him.”

“You are far cleverer than I had expected and perhaps that wrong estimation is my fault. Very well, may you have your sons.”

As he spoke, a rushing sensation clouded her head. She closed her eyes in pain and when she opened them she saw her husband’s head, laid out in her lap. His face was peaceful and her hovering hand could feel the warm air as it left his nose and mouth. She cried out in happiness, water filling her eyes as she stroked his soft skin over and over. She drew her gaze away from her husband and looked up at Death who stood mere steps away, leaning on his wooden staff.

“Thank you,” she breathed, her voice tired and hoarse.

“You have won this battle for now, but you will not win for ever. You will have to let him go, in this life and all of those to come.”

They both watched him breathe for a little while in silence. She purposefully avoided gazing at Death’s face as she could see from the corner of her eye the pitiful look he send her.

“I will save him then too.” She assured him eventually. “I will never let him die, not without me. I am his and he is mine across this and every lifetime.”

“If you cannot leave him behind you will be doomed to die. Will you take the pain and suffering of generations upon yourself?”

“I will. Always.”

“Then so be it. I wish you luck, friend. I will meet you at the end of this life, and all those to come.”

* * *

* * *

 

He barely made it to the bathroom. He vaulted through the door and lifted the toilet seat, his body bent double and heaving as sick left his system. He coughed harshly, knees giving out to send him into an awkward kneeling position. One hand looped around the ceramic base while the other gripped the filthy rim tightly. His breath caught in his chest and he spat again, gagging at the taste left behind in his mouth. Releasing his hold on the toilet, he lifted his hand and wiped the back of it across his sweaty forehead, pushing his hair out of the way. With trembling muscles he stood up and turned to face the mirror, grabbing hold of the sink and carefully supporting himself on it. He gazed at his reflection, at the gaunt pale skin and the purple that framed his eyes and heaved a sigh.

“You ought to take better care of yourself.”

He does not spin around in surprise, giving a barely perceptible flinch instead. His eyes fall to the right hand corner of the mirror where he spots her standing. Her fair hair is immaculately secured in a twisted braid and a bright sundress that is not of her time falls to her knees. Her arms are wrapped around her swollen stomach in a way that he knows is habitual comfort behaviour rather than protective. His eyes stare at this part of her, unable to look away. She stepped closer silently, placing a hand on his right shoulder and smiling, encouraging him to turn to face her. He did, slowly and uncertain, not at all comforted by the kind expression she offered him. She took both his hands in hers then, threading their fingers together and laying them on the smooth muscle of his own stomach, just above his navel.

“You and I, James, we are the same,” she said, pressing their hands firmly against his skin. Nausea rose in his gut again, not eased at all by her action.

“Help me,” he whispered before he could stop himself. The smile slid off her face. He felt his stomach burn hot and looked down at their entangled hands. Blood seeped through their fingers, staining them red. She did not let go.

“We are the same, James.”

He hacked out a cough, blood dribbling down his chin. He tried to speak again, to ask her _why_ but his mouth was too full and he spluttered everywhere. Feeling another sharp pain his torso, he collapsed onto his knees, her hands suddenly leaving him. He reached forward, stretching for and grabbing hold of her legs. He held on tightly, his whole form shaking in pain and –

jolted awake, hands clinging tightly to the toilet bowl. He lifted his head and glanced around the tiny room in confusion, failing to spot any one else or the blood underneath the grainy yellow light fixture. With a heavy sigh, he slammed his head down against his flesh arm and cried.

 


	2. Chapter 2

~~_Chivalry fell on its sword_ ~~

* * *

 

The boy froze in front of Klaus, his hand containing the sponge halting in its path towards his face. Klaus sighed and opened his eyes, noting the horrified gaping expression on the young man’s face.

“ _What?_ ” he asked, his usual scathing tone absent as his voice cracked in strain. He watched as the stage hand bit his lip and dragged it forwards and back between his teeth, ignoring the question.

“Your nose, Herr Hass,” he said, clearing his throat. “It is-” the boy gestured at his own face, moving his hand in a small circle repeatedly. Klaus raised his own and touched a finger against the skin of his nose, swiping it downwards in the direction of his upper lip. Pulling away, he rubbed his fingers together, trying to make a judgement about the clear liquid that now covered them. After staring at it absently for a few seconds, he lifted his fingers again, this time to take a sniff. There was no smell to the discharge, at least none that he could ascertain. With another soft sigh, he wiped the back of the same hand across his temple, only recognising the trembles in his body as he did so.

“Lad?” croaked Klaus hoarsely, holding out his other palm in request for the sponge the boy had been using to powder his face. He felt rather than saw it drop into his hand before he moved it up to his philtrum to wipe away the remainder of the sticky fluid. The boy watched with a frown.

“Are you well, Herr Hass?” he inquired softly, moving half a step closer to Klaus but still refraining from touch. Initially, Klaus nodded opening his mouth in preparation to deliver a searing complaint against over familiarity with one’s employers. The words refused to come out, stuck in his mind where a stabbing pain occurred, blurring his vision.

“I do not think that I am,” said Klaus, wiping the sponge across his lips. With impaired sight, he squinted down at it again, spotting the unmistakable colour of blood around its edges. He pushed himself into a standing position, ignoring the shocked yelp of the boy who leapt backwards and out of his path instantly. His jaw fell open as he prepared to speak but he lost his thought as he crashed to the floor, blacking out as his knees hit the surface.

* * *

 

When he woke, Klaus had no concept of time or day or where it was he lay. His eyes fluttered open after several attempts to a room that was dark save for the small stub of a candle lit in the corner to his right. He lay on some hard surface as if it were a bed, his head propped up on soft pillows and his body covered in a blanket that itched the bare skin of his hands. He was able to feel the clothes he had worn earlier still attached to him, a small relief to the panic that was flooding through him. He sat up quickly in his make-shift bed, wincing as his head rushed to life and pounded painfully. He swung his legs around the surface until they hung off of the edge and pulled the blanket from himself, laying it down beside him. He hopped down from what he now realised was a kind of table, groaning as his legs buckled slightly as they made contact with the floor. Ignoring his pain, he snatched the candle from its resting placed and held it out in front of him, one hand cupping the air beside the flame to ensure it did not blow out prematurely. As it lit his pathway in the darkness, he made his way over to what appeared to be the door of the small room, and pushed the handle in gently, attempting to avoid creating noise. The door creaked open into an empty hallway which was equally as dark as the room had been. Unsure of what else he could do, Klaus continued walking slowly, being careful every time he placed a foot down on the carpet-covered floor.

He paused uncertainly when his knees and lower legs collided with something soft. Lowering the candle, he saw that it was in fact a little girl whom he judged to be no older than three or four years. She was covered up in a frilly dress and her hair fell in tight ringlets. As he continued to stare at her, wondering again just where he could be, she took one look at him and screeched:

“ _Mutter!_ ” before promptly running past him and down the hallway.

Shaking his head, Klaus glanced in the direction she had gone before continuing down his original path. He got three steps further before he heard light footsteps approaching him from behind. He spun around, taking his time and willing the nauseous feeling the movement caused in him to leave him alone. He was unsuccessful.

“Good morning, Herr Hass.” He heard, just before he saw the woman who had obviously addressed him. She stood in his direct line of sight with the child from before sitting on her right hip, head resting in the crook of her neck. The dress she wore was similar in appearance to the little girl’s, albeit with slightly less lace detail than the child sported and strands of her curly hair escaping from the bun at the back of her head. She smiled at him in a way he guessed was supposed to be reassuring and relaxing, but something about it warned Klaus that she was sad. He had no desire to discover why that was.

“Where am I?” he asked instead, cringing at the poor quality of his voice. Her smile faltered for a single second before restoring itself.

“Of course, excuse me. I am Frau Dürer and this is Hannah.” she replied, tilting the little girl in her arms forwards ever so slightly in greeting. The girl looked up at her mother as her name was mentioned, dropping her head back down to its resting position upon realisation that she was not being spoken to. “This is our home. My husband is a physician and was treating you during the night. The men from your group brought you here very late for him to see you as the stage is a short walk from here. It is only just morning now, you did not sleep for very long. I apologise if Hannah woke you, she has her own mind and was quite loud as she ate her food.”

Klaus shook his head, trying to evaluate the situation in his mind. “She did not,” he began slowly, rubbing a palm across his temples. A concerned expression flashed across Frau Dürer’s face.

“Are you feeling pain again, Herr Hass?”

He nodded, grinding his teeth together.

“Perhaps it would be best if you went back to the room we had put you in? Lying down may help.”

He allowed her to lead him back to the room, one hand grasped on his wrist that held the candle and pulling him along gently. He watched as her hips swayed as she walked to accommodate the weight of the child she carried, a pang of familiarity echoing deep inside of him somewhere. Within seconds they were back where he had started and she had set Hannah down to help him sit up on the high table, legs falling over the edge. With one steady hand, she brushed his black fringe back from his forehead, attempting in vain to smooth the lines of wrinkles she saw there. She was young enough that she did not have any herself although they were so close together that Klaus could see fine grey hairs among the brown at her temples.

“I am reluctant to give you something for the pain, Herr Hass. I believe that often the medicines do more ill than good things.”

Klaus snorted, closing his eyes and leaning back out of her reach. “I do not think there is much left in the way of good for me.”

Frau Dürer bent at the hip to address her child quietly, murmuring some instruction that Klaus could not catch. The child nodded excitedly and sped off, disappearing so quickly that she made him feel dizzy. The Frau straightened and turned back to face him, looking expectantly at him. “What did you mean by that?”

He stared straight back at her, breathing deeply and ignoring the sharp pain in his lungs as he did so. “There was no reason for them to take me here.”

She huffed out a breath of her own and appeared affronted. “Whatever could you mean? You are ill, and this is a home for the ill. You belong here until you become better, where we can care for you.”

“I cannot become better. Perhaps you saved my life for today, but you cannot save it for tomorrow.”

“I do not understand you, Herr Hass.”

“I have been ill for some time now and soon, I will die. Surely that is a concept the wife of a physician understands.”

She didn’t say anything, gaping silently at him. After a few moments she seemed to realise this and ended up avoiding his eyes, looking down at an imaginary spot somewhere between his knees and the fabric of her dress.

“What is it?” she mumbled, still not looking at him.

“An illness I have borne for some time. It is only recently that it has made me so ill. Before now it was barely noticeable.”

“There is no cure.” she stated carefully, as if afraid to phrase it as a query.

“No.”

“How did you come by it?”

It’s his turn to be silent and she finally glances back at him only to see his face now thrown to the left, avoiding her.

“That is not something that you wish to hear,” countered Klaus.

“It is,” she pressed back.

“You are the wife of a physician, _not_ a physician yourself and we have only just met. Perhaps you would do well to mind your own business.” he grunted, his voice once again lacking its usual authoritarian streak. She didn’t seem intimidated by his tone or his words, and eventually he allowed his eyes to wander back to hers. “You do not want to know,” he repeated insistently. “I do not have to tell you.”

She considered his words for a moment. “You could tell my husband, if that would help? In fact it would be best if he knew.”

“I have no more inclination to discuss my life with him than I do with you.”

“You will not accept the help of others when they offer it?”

He jerked his head sharply in a rude interpretation of a _no_. The movement made it ache and he swallowed another feeling of panic as his vision started to blur. He lifted a hand to catch his head and steady it, willing the unpleasant feeling to go away. Bile rose in his throat, burning the pathway as he struggled to force it back down. Frau Dürer squeaked, placing a hand on his upper arm which he shrugged off with a groan.

“Don’t touch me,” he croaked, coughing as the bile rose threateningly again. “Don’t touch me.”

She either could not understand his words or chose to ignore them, grabbing him with both palms this time and supporting him in the seated position. She repeated his name over and over before hollering out a desperate call. He couldn’t hear what it was she had said, his ears now filled with a horrible ringing sound. He opened his mouth to tell her again, to warn her off touching him but no sound came out save for a quiet wail. He saw that her fingers were now stained red and wondered absently where the blood had come from.

He barely noticed the larger man entering the room, taking over from his wife and roughly turning Klaus’ body in his strong hands to lie down on the table. He stared into Frau Dürer’s eyes as the physician pulled his shirt open and yanked a metallic object from around his neck, placing it on Klaus’ scarred skin. His face contorted in pain and fear but relaxed ever so slightly when a hand curled around his, slick with blood but tight enough to compensate. He shivered, the movement threatening to break the hold but she continued to hang on as he faded into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

The second time his eyes opened, the room is far brighter than before indicating that he had slept through most of the morning. He caught sight of the chair in the centre of the room on which sat the girl from before, Hannah. She cocked his head at him once, looking curiously at him. She babbled something happily, speech obviously directed at him and slipped off the chair, running from the room. A few moments later, Frau D _ü_ rer returned to the room, carrying a cup filled with water. Without saying anything, she supported his head and brought the rim to his lips, not pulling away until he’d taken a long swallow. He managed a shaky smile, his fingers flung out and catching her wrist as she moved away from him.

“You need to sleep, Herr Hass,” she said, attempting to yank herself from his grasp and looking surprised when he managed to hold on despite her resistance. “You are not well.”

“I do not feel like sleep,” Klaus slurred back, his words running into each other. “Unless you wish to sleep here with me.”

Using her free hand to unclench his fingers, she finally succeeded in breaking his grip and pulled away, but not before he saw the small grimace on her face.

“It appears that your senses have left you, Herr Hass.”

He smiled goofily at her discomfort, a wavering hand reaching for her face and missing hopelessly. “I have never found the company of women very appealing, yet there is something most fascinating about you.”

She stopped her previous actions of fixing the blanket around him, staring down at the cheap wool, running her fingers across it absently. “That is not an admission one should make in polite company.”

“It is not an admission to make in any company, no?” Klaus huffed out a laugh and suffered for it, coughing harshly once again. “It hardly matters now, my dearest Frau. It is my curse. I knew of what that trouble was when I entered it as a young man and yet I did so anyway.”

“I find that the more you speak the less I understand you.”

“You sound as my mother once did.”

“She must have been an intelligent lady to know you so.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, smile still stretched out on his face. “Would you like to know my secret, Frau Dürer?”

“I am almost afraid to say so, but yes.”

“I will die before the night arrives.”

He said it so plainly that for a few moments, she stood in silence, unmoving. When her brain finally catches up with the thought, she springs into action.“Then I must fetch my husband n-”

“ _No_ ,” he said, quite forcefully. She froze beside the door, her hand hovering over the knob she had been about to pull. “Please, come back to me. It is not your husband I want to see. He can do no more for me now. I know that I will die with great certainty.”

“You are a dramatic one.”

 “No, a _romantic_. I gave my health and my soul away. I loved him. Greatly. More than I ever loved another. I believed that he felt as I did. My fatal mistake. I saw him, a few weeks before his own end. They told me that he had been consumed by illness for years. Not only him, his-his wife also. I believed it was some form of divine vengeance. I was bitter yet happy for so long. Then, then I fell ill.”

“I cannot imagine that.”

“You will have to, one day.”

“I don’t even know what to say to you. How I can possibly give you any comfort.”

He smiled again, ignoring the pain in his chest. “You already have. I am an old man now, it is no great tragedy for me to die.”

“They will miss you on the stage. I have seen you, you know, several times. We have not gone since Hannah was born and I regret that now. My  _Vati_ used to take me when I was very young. I’d sit on his lap making such a mess, creasing his finest clothes. He’d whisper a commentary of the whole thing in my ear, rude comments about the characters, explaining things I did not understand. It brought such pleasure to use both, many beautiful memories. That is a great legacy that you leave behind.”

“I am not sure if I would agree.” He answered cryptically, staring into her worried eyes. “There is no real need to be anxious. I cannot be the first man you have had die in your home.”

“No. Nor will you be the last.”

He pulled himself away from her gaze, laying his body down flat on the table. He closed his eyes and allowed her to fix again the blanket over him and adjust his pillow slightly.

“Would you sit with me? Until the end?”

He hears the scrape of the wooden chair across the ground and her heavy sigh as she dropped into it by his side.

“Until the end of the line.”

* * *

* * *

Not long after the first one came along, Bucky lifted her up with hands that trembled only a little. He settled her into his arms, curling his whole body around her. He watched as her tiny face cracked open in a long yawn and smiled at the little fists that flung out and hit him feebly. He noticed her then, staring up at him with an unimpressed expression. His smile turned into a massive grin and he began to sway ever so slightly, willing her to go back to sleep. He hummed, some tune he couldn’t identify, feeling the sound resonate through his chest. She turned her head, eyes surprisingly alert and nestled into his shirt.

“Are you ever going to let her sleep?” came a whisper from behind him and Bucky felt a light hand land on his shoulder. He cocked his head and pivoted on his feet, looking to his mother who was watching him with a smile.

“ _You’re_ supposed to be asleep too, Ma.” he replied, nodding at the white nightgown she was hugging to her body. Her face was an exhausted one with lots of lines and dark shadows. He worried about her but he wouldn’t say a thing, knowing that if he did she would immediately retaliate and scold him.

“How could I sleep when both of my beautiful babies are here together getting to know each other?”

He scowled, glancing away from her teasing face and back down at his sleeping sister. “I’m not a baby.”

“You’ll always be my baby, J.” said his mother, wrapping an arm around his waist and joining him in looking at the new infant. Even with as short as she was, his head only met her collar bone, making him the perfect height yet for hugging. “What do you think of her?”

Bucky was silent for a few minutes. “She’s tiny,” he answered eventually.

“She is,” she agreed. “You were that small once. Hard to believe, huh?”

He nodded, shifting the little girl in his arms. She let out a high pitched whine that sent his ma into a fit of quiet giggles.

“You used to do that as well,” she said, ruffling his hair with her free hand.

“Do you think she knows?”

“Knows what, honey?”

“That we love her. She’s so tiny, do you think she can understand that?”

His ma squeezed him tighter and didn’t respond. He glanced over to her face and saw that her eyes were watering.

“Of course she knows we love her,” she said finally, something funny about her voice that Bucky didn’t understand. “She’ll always know that we love her.”

**Author's Note:**

> Stay posted for more! :)


End file.
